


Hey Ho, to the Mountain I go

by Saanaaba



Series: Hey Ho trilogy [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Love, M/M, Movie 1: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, Movie 2: The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, Movie 3: The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, Ones, TheHobbit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24536614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saanaaba/pseuds/Saanaaba
Summary: Abandonned story cause I just couldn't write anything for the past 6 month and i don't know anymore where this story was aboutIn the Shire, few families compete for the title of stranger. Azlelia could compete in the Tooks colors, if only her mother let her try her luck.The hills and meadows are laughing of her boredom, because what could she prove here? What can she do with all her courage in the Shire?Fortunately, her cousin has just invited her to dinner, and who knows what is found at Bag End at such an hour ...
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Kíli/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Hey Ho trilogy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773343
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. An unexpected diner

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, I'm not a native English speaker, so don't hesitate to correct my flawed English  
> Then, this is my first fanfiction on Middle-earth, so it may not be excellent.  
> Afterwards, you can find the French text on Wattpad.  
> Finally: Happy reading

Life in the Shire was perfect in every way and for every good hobbit who lived there. What more could you ask for than a beautiful, well-kept field, taverns where you can drink and smoke, small rivers running through the green meadows, and big smials where you can gather a whole family of other good hobbits? Yes, there obviously couldn't be a nicer place, even less in the world of Big Folk. If there had to be a place to live comfortably, and above all peacefully, it was somewhere in this little piece of Eriador, and to listen to the branch of the Took family, in the West district more precisely.

There was the charming Hobbiton, and the equally convenient Tuckborough , a little further south. But it would have been very ill-advised to displease Buckland, or Frogmorton, both distant in the East, since it was very ill-advised among good hobbits to be bad towards other good hobbits. Even if one could bear the name of Took. A prestigious name, since the family could take pride in being one of - if not the- most extended families in the Shire, and was no less wealthy than numerous. The Took family heads could also boast of the title of Thain, which they had successively worn since 2340 of the Third Age, that is to say more than five centuries when this adventure began.

An adventure worthy of Big Folk, which begins one fine morning in April, the 26th in fact, in 2909 of the Third Age. Because it was this morning that Molaine Took, Brandybuck by birth and Took by marriage, had given birth to her first daughter, Azlelia. A small hobbit, already making a lot of noise for its few minutes of existence, and despite her first name, whose meaning could have approached "moderation". Could we ever find a first name less suited to this little bit of hobbit?

Growing up, the noisy little Azlelia had stayed small, but that went without saying for a hobbit, and as for the sound volume, it had even increased if this was possible. But the noise produced by this so small creature was now covered by that of a farandole of little brothers and sisters, all more loud than each other, but also a significant number of cousins, cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents, with whom they shared the gargantuan family smial. The Tooks had lived there for as long as one could remember, and had even given their name to Tuckborough, which was built around their underground castle. Furthermore, their house was magnificent and enjoyed the reputation that its inhabitants offered it: wealth and power.

The great wealth of the Tooks was one of the most fertile subjects of gossip in the area. Some claimed it to be so immense that their house would be built on two underground levels, filled only with gold and precious stones, of which they had no use. But the hobbits were not naturally jealous, so, as long as the Tooks did not flaunt it, they could have owned half of the Shire that it would not displease anyone. And the hobbits preferred to know this gold among the Tooks, who had long proven their quality as Thain, than in the pockets of an unknown hobbit who would have misused it.

Nevertheless, the hobbits did not have the slightest desire to know how this wealth came. Having money was a good thing, but it was known that the Tooks were eccentric, and went on an adventure like the other hobbits went to the fields. And it was naturally unthinkable to make a fortune beyond the limits of the Shire, in the world of Big folk. So they were content to enjoy the Tooks parties and banquets without asking more questions than what there would be for dessert. And when the subject of their oddity came, the guests always found something to reassure themselves by recalling the legendary Bandobras Took, who by his surprising size and his courage had saved the Shire from a goblin invasion, and this figure was enough to accept the strangeness of the Tooks.

In this, Azlélia Touque did not surprise good hobbits. She was everything they could expect from a Took. Of a young Took moreover, since she had not reached the thirty-three years of its majority yet. She ran through the forests, looked for elves, and had even left the Shire, in a regrettable epic with her cousin Bilbo. A hell of a scandal. Two hobbits, not even major, who had left the Shire, and had only returned after the fell of darkness, laughing as if it were only a pleasant walk. Especially since if Bilbo had already twenty-eight years behind him at that time, it was a Baggins, and the Baggins were not known for their strangeness. No, the Baggins were rich and predictable, the second adjective being even more important in the eyes of hobbits. The Baggins did nothing surprising, and did not take their little cousin of nine years old to visit the surroundings of the Shire.

But Bilbo Baggins had learned the lesson, because never since had he been caught doing strange things. Today he was the Baggins under the Hill, and lived his life as a good hobbit, as predictably as it was comfortable.

Azlelia had obviously not retained anything on the other hand. She continued to wander in the forest rather than helping in the fields, and preferred to fall asleep in the straw watching the sky clouds rather than bringing in the crops so as not to let them rot in the rain. She was not made for the life of farmer, but it was not a drama since the fortune of the Tooks was sufficient to allow her to twiddle her thumbs in all serenity. Which was what she had done for thirty years, before being put back in the right hobbit path by her mother, who could no longer bear to see the young woman disappears in the morning and returns in the evening, the petticoat covered with earth and grass, leaves in the hair ,and regularly holes in her shirt. Thus, they had decided to give a serious and capital work to Azlelia, so she cannot escape it by fleeing through fields without getting terrible troubles. And thus, and for thirty years to this day, that Azlelia made the connection between the markets of Hobbiton, Tookbank and Tuckborough, with her basket or wheelbarrow. A long journey in truth, but which still hadn't got the better of the young woman's hikes. 

It was a work that bothered her, even if it remained pleasant. She could continue to walk in the Shire from morning to night, but only by following the paths, each day taking the same path, in nameless weariness. And, when this adventure took its turn, April 26 was announced again, but thirty-three years apart from the birth of the little Took.

April 26, therefore, in the year 2941, of the Third Age.

It begins as one might expect: In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. It was a very comfortable and large hole, although there was only one hobbit to inhabit it. Bilbo Baggins, Baggins of Bag End, a predictable hobbit, who was never embarrassed by lack of money or friends. But if there was one thing that could disturb his peace, it was this strange man in gray, with his long gray bard and his pointy hat, who, by his size and appearance, had nothing to do in the Shire , and even less in front of his little garden. Sitting on his bench, pipe in hand, he didn't even want to know why the old man came for. But, the courtesy of the hobbits obliges, he threw him a merry;

“Good morning !”

“What do you mean ?” replied the strange character without returning his politeness.” Do you mean to wish me a good morning , or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on? “

" All of them at once, I suppose. " stammered Bilbo, perplexed by this lack of civility and by this strange questioning. “Can I help you ?”

"It remains to be seen. " mumbled the old man, eyeing the hobbit in a way that was very unsuitable for anyone who liked etiquette. “ I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure. “

The Baggins under the hill widened his eyes only by hearing this unpleasant term.

“An adventure ?” he repeated incredulously. No, I don’t imagine anyone west of Bree, would have much interest in adventures. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. - he paused while getting his mail, to occupy his hands and give himself a capacity - Make you late for dinner.

With the letters in one hand, he emitted series of small grunts while throwing piercing glances at the magician, hoping without doubt to have been clear enough for him to leave his little garden at peace while being kind enough to go his way. But noticing that the stranger was not making the slightest gesture indicating a departure, he found himself very wise to return to his house, where he would soon be rid of this unexpected appearance.

He withdrew his pipe from his mouth, dropped for the old man one: " Good morning ", which would serve him as usual politeness, and began to leave towards his peaceful and predictable smial.

“To think that I should have lived to be good- morninged by Belladonna Took’s son” replied the man, causing the hobbit to turn around, surprised that this curious character knows his mother's name. “As if I was selling buttons at the door .”

“Beg your pardon ?” wondered the good hobbit.

“ You’ve changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins. “

“ I’m sorry, do I know you? “ replied Bilbo, whose tone was certainly no longer so polite.

“ Well you know my name, although you don’t remember I belong to it”, explained the magician. “ I’m Gandalf, and Gandalf means…me.”

"Gandalf," Monsieur Sacquet thought aloud before remembering cheerfully who bore that name in his knowledge. “ Not Gandalf, the wandering wizard who made such excellent fireworks? Old Took used to have them on Midsummer’s Eve! Well! I had no idea you were still in business. “

“ And where else should I be? “ Gandalf asked.

“Well” ... was Bilbo's only answer.

“Well, I’m pleased to find you remember something about me, even if it’s only my fireworks.” He paused and thought for a moment before continuing: “ Well that’s decided. It’ll be very good for you, and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others.”

“ Inform the who…?” repeated the hobbit long enough to understand what the magician was saying. And once it was done, he rebelled; “ What…?! No! No! No, wait. We do not want any adventures here, thank you. Not today, not… I suggest you try over the hill or…across the water. Good morning.

Monsieur Baggins had joined his house, and his "good morning" was everything but polite. He slammed the door behind him, and locked it twice. A noise, however, caught his attention. Like a scratch on the door. But that squeaky noise stopped almost immediately. Looking out of the window, he quickly walked away when Gandalf's face appeared. Bilbo hid in the small rounded corridor that connected his entrance and his office, to observe the actions of the old magician and was satisfied to see him go back from where he had come. Even though he had the unpleasant impression that Gandalf was far too stubborn to have dropped the matter so quickly. And he had no doubt that he would be back much too soon for his liking.

He didn't have the slightest desire to go on an adventure. He was a Baggins! And not a Took, or even a Brandybuck  
. This is where he should have sent Gandalf, he thought, to Tuckborough or Buckland. There he would no doubt have found a hobbit crazy enough to get into this quagmire he called "adventure". But it was not by coming to Hobbiton, coming to Bag End, looking for a Baggins, that he would find his brainless victim.

Although the plan to stay all day long in his home would have been enough to keep him safe, a good hobbit could not miss the market day. Market day was not really a day, however, since there was a market every day. But it was not correct not to appear there. The market was the daily meeting place for all good hobbits, whether customers or sellers. Staying hidden in his smial was not what good hobbits did, and when the afternoon was well underway, he had no choice but to go.

Bilbo left his house, looking around him for the high gray pointy hat. With his basket in his hand, he moved in a very curious way, hiding behind hedges and fences to go unnoticed, although his approach, which had nothing to do in the Shire, made him even more remarkable among his pairs. He kept turning around, as if someone was following him, and didn't even take the time to greet his neighbors, being eager to get back into his smial.

“Bilbo?” reasoned a voice which made his heart miss a beat as his nerves were strained. “What on earth are you doing ?”

“Azlelia?” he stammered once recovered from his surprise. “What are you doing around here?”

“I'm going to the market, again. It's nice to see you since all this time! How are you ?”

“More or less the same as the last time.”

“Nothing new ?” she watched with curiosity the panicked looks of her cousin. “What are you doing ?”

“Nothing. Nothing relevant. And nothing has changed at Bag End either.”

“In three years; It must be annoying to live alone in such a large and identical house every morning.”

“This is...”

Bilbo left his sentence in abeyance, turning abruptly to watch the way, as if it frightened him.

“Have you met Lobelia yet?” laughed the young woman trying to see from whom Bilbo could hide in this way. “What have she...”

“Did you meet Gandalf?” he cut her off.

“Gandalf? she replied, frowning.

“The fireworks magician. You know, at summer solstices.”

"In the days of Old Took?”

“This one.”

“Why, no. Is he in the Shire?” was astonished Azlélia, who had not met the mage for many years, and only kept blurred memories, for she was young the last time he came.

Azlelia had never really known the days of old Took, but Bilbo tended to quickly forget that her young cousin was not of his age. They got on particularly well, this was true - even that Bilbo's new predictability left Azlelia skeptical - but were nevertheless nineteen years apart. She was not even an adult, that was to say ...

“In front of my house either way”, squeaked the hobbit, who did not understand why he should be the only one to undergo the untimely arrivals of Gandalf.

“It's awesome !” she enthuses. “If only he could come to us too. I am bored to death in Tuckborough. What did he want with you?”

“ I ... I did not understand well” ... replied Bilbo, who did not wish to encourage his cousin to go in search of the magician.”

“He'll probably come back then.”

Despite the terror that the news inspired him, he was reassured by the presence of the young woman. Almost convinced that Gandalf would not dare to bother him a second time if his cousin witnessed his incivility.

“You were going to the market too, I presume?” asked Azlélia, resuming her way.

Bilbo quickly caught up with her in a few strides. She was walking briskly, which the daily path had made weary. Azlelia had always dreamed of being a Took up to the legend of her ancestors. But she was only there, to take each day, again and again, the same road, to meet the same people, to say the same banalities. She felt the shadow of the trees calling her far away, the roads ready to take her to the other side of the world if she had wanted it only a little more.

Although it was not of the ilk of "good hobbits", she had to admit a little jealousy. His cousin wished for nothing more than peace, but he was the one who received visits from magicians. And her, her who was thirty three years old today, the majority, but to whom life here had never seemed so vain in here. So uninteresting and pathetically boring.

What would she not have given for a walk outside the Shire, as in the good old days, when Bilbo was not already this hobbit of middle ages - not old enough to have tales to tell but enough to be satisfy with his passive life - but this young hobbit who, like her, dreamed of adventure, elves and magical quest so terrible that they would miss the Shire But Bilbo was no longer this hobbit. Nor was he a child actually. He was fifty years old now, and he was no longer Bilbo but Mister Baggins. If there was to be a quest, she had no hope of seeing her intrepid old cousin taking part. 

In a year, maybe two, someone would surely come and ask her to marry him, partly because she would be a rich heiress after the death of her parents. Maybe a Bolger? Or a Proudfoot, who knows? Somehow, her mother will quickly understand that she was not likely to make the long journey before fleeing across the fields. Of course arranged marriages were not in the culture of hobbits, but Azlelia counted on her mother to convince her of an idyll for any hobbit provided that he was wealthy. For the money Molaine showed a terrifying sagacity.

“Walk a little slower”, whispered Bilbo as she stopped to wait for him (since she had taken twenty yards ahead). “I am no longer thirty years old.”

"neither am I," she retorted.

“How old then?” he said once at his height, realizing that he had no idea how old his own cousin was, which was not so surprising given the countless number of cousins he had, if only counting the brothers and sisters of Azlélia.

"Thirty-three today," she mumbled with no more enthusiasm than the thought of hitting the road the next morning.

“Just today?” exclaims the hobbit, noting with sadness that he had forgotten the age as much as the date.

“Yes. But don't worry”, concluded the young woman in front of her cousin's contrite face, “I hadn't even planned to celebrate it. It's perfectly understandable that you didn't know about it.”

“Not to celebrate your 33rd birthday?” protested Bilbo. “But it is the most important!”

He glanced at his cousin, suddenly noticing the determination that lit up her eyes. She seemed more tired, of course, but was Took all the way, to the end of her toes. It would have been enough to offer her at the very moment and she would have left as far as her legs would carry her, leaving her basket on this path that she knew so well. And this air resolved to stay here, which would have seemed normal to any hobbit, seemed to him here more annoyed by the Shire than exhausted by time, which had changed nothing of her child's face.

“I don't care, I assure you. It's just a number. And, nothing really differentiates today from tomorrow, as much to celebrate it when I have the heart to enjoy it.”

“All right, don't celebrate then”. But go to Bag End, toast to my little cousin who is no longer that little.”

He smiles warmly at Azlelia. She returned it to him, her heart swollen with gratitude. Bag End was a bit predictable, and certainly a bit boring, but spending time with Bilbo, remembering their crazy adventures in the woods, or around Frogmorton, could only get her out of the monotony of her Took’s life that they try so hard to pass for a Baggins’. Molaine had decreed that her eldest daughter would not be embarked on the same bizarre quests in which they could had found her ancestors. But destining Azlélia Touque for such a future of boredom was nothing serious. Because there are unpredictable things that sometimes happen on the evening of April 26, when we go to supper at Bilbo Baggins’.

The little clock that sat on the crowded Cul de Sac fireplace indicated an hour already well advanced, but Azlelia still hadn't pointed the tip of her nose. However, Bilbo didn’t worried so much for her - because what could happen in the Shire - as for him. He feared that Gandalf would reappear, and was not very reassured not to have met him, whether at the market or on the way back. He was convinced that going out and not crossing any gray pointy hat could soothe his nerves, but against all expectations he was even more anxious not to have already seen the magician, who was probably preparing a bad blow to disappear so long after such strange propositions.

Sitting in his chair and observing the fire crackling thoughtfully, he blew out a long plume of smoke from pipe weed. His cousin was rude enough to arrive so late, if indeed she was going to arrive. Azlelia had never been particularly assiduous in observing Hobbit civilities, and her delay did not really surprise him.

The slight tinkling of the entrance bell rang, and Bilbo quickly got up to go and open, apprehensive that it was Gandalf behind the pretty round door. He had had enough of an unexpected visit that day.

“Come in, come in,” he exclaimed relieved the second he recognized his cousin's tangled hair.

“You did not lie”, laughed Azlélia, glancing at the big entrance of Cul-de-Sac. “Nothing has changed.”

“As you see. Make yourself at home.”

“Count on me. By the way, have you invited people?” she asked.

“No. Why ?” worried Bilbo, who immediately thought of a pointy hat and a long gray beard.

“There are people looking for "the big house under the hill with the green door" on the road.”

"People," stammered Bilbo, who was afraid that he would receive more strangers. “What people?”

“I do not know. They are tall, not as much as the big folk, but all the same more than the majority of the hobbits that I crossed. Even Fallohides more loaded with Fallohides blood than us are not as big. They had axes too, big axes, they shone with the moon. Oh, and they were wearing boots. We would hear them walking for miles. I'm sure these are not hobbits!”

"Don't be stupid," replied Bilbo with the coldness that fright imposed on him. “Who else could look for me in the middle of the Shire?”

“Gandalf? suggested the young woman.

“Gandalf has no axes, and he wouldn't ask where to find me. You must have misunderstood what they were looking for. And it is certainly not Bag End.”

Azlelia remained skeptical. She knew what she had seen, and these strange gentlemen were not the least from the hobbit world. And if they were, it would have made the whole Shire tremble to be inhabited by these people even less civilized than she was. But, forced to note the dreadful consequence that the news had had on Bilbo's good humor, she did not answer, but scowled.

The young woman settled herself in the pretty armchair which was indicated to her, not being able to prevent herself from observing the small round window, which let pass both the glow of the moon and the alleged silhouettes of the hobbits which were nowhere to be seen. Outside, the path was resolutely unoccupied, as the night still lulled the life of the Shire.

Bilbo returned, bottle in hand, and a brand new smile on his lips.

“Cheers to thirty-three years old today?” he proposed, handing a glass to Azlélia.

“Not if I can avoid it”, muttered the hobbit, smiling at him anyway.

“So what would you like us to drink for?” Bilbo asked politely.

“I do not know”, she admitted, looking again through the window without more result.” At the promise that a few things will happen before 66th ?”

She handed her glass to Bilbo, asking him if he approved this proposition. He seemed to hesitate, it was perhaps not good to encourage Azlelia in this direction. But after all, tonight was the last tonight of her minority, so she could have a few special things one last time, before becoming an adult.

Sure of his reflection, he knocked his glass against Azlelia's, and as he raised the glass to his lips, the ringing of the bell on the front door resounded in the great smial. 

Bilbo immediately whitens. Between the magician this morning and the strange hobbits that his cousin had encountered this evening, he was convinced that at the door could only be an intruder.


	2. Surprising Guests

“Do you want me to go open?” asked Azlelia after a few seconds without any reaction from Bilbo.

His cousin seemed to pick up a few colors, and without answering began to walk towards the door with a resigned air. What he really wanted was to get out of this nightmare. In a long creak, the door opened, on a man whom Azlelia recognized as one of those looking for the house at the green door.

"Dwalin, at your service," he said in a scolding voice.

“Uh…Bilbo…Baggins…” stammered the hobbit. “At yours.”

The stranger entered the smial without further ado. Azlelia had approached the entrance, to observe this strange visitor. He had hair only on the sides of his otherwise bald, tattooed skull, and wore an imposing black beard. As she told Bilbo, he was wearing heavy boots, which reasoned on the floor. It was completely impossible for this man to be a hobbit, Azlelia thought. Nothing in his appearance had the slightest chance of being matched in the Shire.

“ Do we know each other’s?” Bilbo asked in a voice trembling with concern.

He did not answer him immediately, and went further into the house. Placed just in front of Bilbo, one could easily see that his size was not that of a hobbit either. Bilbo was not a very tall hobbit of course, but he was largely average, while the stranger was almost a head taller than him. His massive build made Bilbo's ridiculous.

"No," he replied, as if it were perfectly normal to ring the doorbell at people you didn't know at such an hour.

Without further ado, he passed in front of Mister Baggins to enter the maze of corridors of Bag End.

“Which way, laddie?” he asked, taking off his travel cape.” Is it down here?”

“Is…Is what down where?” worried Bilbo, who still hadn't closed the door, shocked by the arrival of this Dwalïn.

“Supper. He said there’d be food, and lots of it.”

“He said ... Who said?” Bilbo asked, watching the visitor walk down the corridors of the smial.

Azlelia remained in the entrance, smiling of the dismayed air of her cousin.

"He's one of the strangers on the way," she explained softly. “And I was right, he is not a hobbit.”

“I don't even see what he may be ....”

“A dwarf.”

“I’ve got this one. What would a dwarf come here to make? In the Shire!”

“Eat apparently.”

Without waiting for a response from Bilbo, and very happy to see that there was really and finally happening a few things here, Azlelia took the corridor in which the dwarf had disappeared. She caught up with him quickly, and smiled at him.

“Azlelia, at your service,” she said.

“Dwalïn, at yours,” he let go without returning her smile.

“Are you looking for something to eat? The kitchen is over there.”

She pointed to Dwalïn the left corridor, and he nodded in thanks. And she took care to ignore the outraged look of her cousin, shocked that her cousin was going in the direction of this dwarf. He left in the direction that the young hobbit had just indicated to him, making his boots resonate throughout the house.

Without asking Bilbo for his opinion, he settled into the kitchen. Sitting in front of his plate, he devoured a whole grilled fish. Azlelia settled down in front of him, still very smiling, and Bilbo quickly join them. He put himself on a stool behind the dwarf, and threw him murderous glances, which only widened the smile of his cousin.

If she had known earlier that it was enough to ask to change her daily life, she would have done it so much sooner. And if Bilbo only darkened over the minutes, it was because Azlelia had spoken of several travelers, and that for the moment only one seemed to much.

“Where are you from?” she asked the dwarf, no longer refraining

He looked up at the little woman who spoke to him but didn't answer, which was perhaps only politeness, since he still had a full mouth. However, when he finished his bite, he did not answer any more, contenting himself with a somber look, not bringing anything down her sudden good humor on the other hand.

“Very good this. Any more?”

Dwalïn pointed out to Bilbo the fish he had just eaten, of which there were only bones left, not deigning to respond to Azlelia's curiosity.

“Oh ... uh ... yes. Help yourself.”

Mister Baggins got up to grab the bread basket. He hid two pieces of it in his pocket, under the amused eye of his cousin, before handing it to Dwalin. The dwarf grabbed a piece, which he swallowed whole, adding a little more disgust in Bilbo's eyes. Obviously his cousin was already dissatisfied with the politeness of one guest. In addition to being irritated by the sly air that grew on Azlelia's face.

“Hmm. It’s just that,” Bilbo began, “um…I wasn’t expecting company. “

As if fate had waited for these few words, the entrance bell rang again. Bilbo looked up in terror towards the entrance which one guessed at the end of the corridor, and Azlelia giggled at her cousin's flabbergasted face.

"That'll the door," said Dwalin simply.

After a moment of silence, Bilbo took a brisk step, Azlelia on his heels. Opening it, a new dwarf stood behind. He had all his hair and a beard as imposing as the previous one, but the whole had a white color which gave him an air of old sage, above his benevolent face.

“Balin,” he said with a broad smile before bowing. “At your service.”

“Good evening”, replied Bilbo, who seemed overwhelmed by events.

“Yes. Yes, it is. Although I think it might rain late.,” noted the second dwarf as he entered the smial in turn. “Am I late?”

“Late for what?” mumbled Mister Baggins for any response.

“Ooh!” exclaimed Balïn, turning to Dwalïn (who was actually stealing cakes from a jar in the living room). “Ah-hah! Evening, brother!”

“By my beard”, laughed the first of the dwarves in his cavernous voice. “You are shorter and wider than last we met.”

“Wider, not shorter. Sharp enough for both of us.”

They both laughed, before grabbing each other by the shoulders and snapping their heads against each other in a collision that would have hurt any other people in the Middle Earth.

These two dwarves had nothing to do with the Shire, and for that Azlelia was grateful to them. Maybe for one evening only it wouldn't be just a hobbit from Tuckborough. Tonight she was an adventurer, who saw the world from outside just by watching these curious characters being different from her. And it did a lot of good in reality.

“Uh…excuse me. Sorry. I hate to interrupt... “stammered Bilbo again. “Uh…But the thing is I’m not entirely sure you’re in the right house.”

Azlelia gave him a dark look and silenced him, all too happy to add a taste of novelty to this evening. The company of the dwarves already pleased her very much, and she hoped that Bilbo would not hunt them before she could learn more about the exteriors of the Shire.

Regardless of the words of their host, the dwarves continued to chat, and Azlelia listened with passion to the sequences of terms that she did not understand. They seemed to be talking about other dwarves, or other places, or in any case things she did not know. From what she managed to capture, they too came from Eriador, but lived much further west, in Ered Luin, although she had no idea what this place could be. They also spoke of a company that "could not delay", and that did not seem to reassure Bilbo. All the more so when the two dwarves went to his pantry.

“t's not that I don't like visitors,” Bilbo tried to divert them from the methodical plunder of his food reserves. “ I…I like visitors as much as the next hobbit. But I do like to know them before they come visiting. The thing is, um… The thing is, I don’t…I don’t know either of you, not in the slightest. I don’t mean to be blunt, but I uh…but I had to speak my mind. I’m sorry. “

The dwarves turned to watch the hobbit. They hadn't stopped arguing throughout Bilbo's tirade, only Azlelia, who was begging him not to chase the dwarves, proved that he had indeed spoken.

"Apology accepted," replied Balin after a moment, before turning to his brother.

Obviously they didn't want to leave, and Bilbo lost his smile a little more. And the final blow was the ringing of the door, which left a deep despair on his face.

“I'll open,” Azlelia said.

The young woman trotted hurriedly towards the entrance, which had already let two dwarves pass. Without the slightest hesitation, she put her hand on the small rounded wrist and pulled on the door to reveal the two new dwarves who were standing on the porch.

“Fili.”

“And Kili.”

“At your service,” they conclude with one voice.

“Azlelia, at yours”, she replied in an improvised curtsy.

“You must be ma'am Boggins!” exclaimed enthusiastically the dark-haired dwarf, whose name was Kili.

“Baggins,” she corrected, imagining the heart attack that this name spelling could have caused on her cousin. “But I'm just his cousin, Azlelia Took, and Miss. Are you coming for the asembly?”

“Yes, is it here?” asked the blond, Fili.

“Of course.”

She cleared the passage to let the two dwarves, who entered in their turn.

“Where can we drop this off?” Fili went on, pointing to the huge package of weapons he was carrying.

“In the living room, I presume”, she answers, wondering what use they could have of such an arsenal.

"It’s nice, this place," said Kili.” Did your cousin do it himself?”

“No, but his ancestors did, I suppose,” replied Azlelia, leading Fili to the living room. “Excuse me, but where are you from?”

"From Ered Luin," said Fili simply.

“Where?” she repeated.

The dwarf seemed lost, as if it was inconceivable not to know this Ered Luin from where they all seemed to come. As if there was a chance she would know the geography beyond Bree and Emyn Beraid. Of course she knew the most famous places, Rivendell and Mordor for example, but not from there to know each mountain where the dwarves had dug in three ages of existence.

“You don't know Ered Lu ...”

“Fili! Kili! come on, give us a hand,” said Dwalïn's big voice.

“Mister Dwalïn,” laughs the brown-haired, moving away from the young woman, still impatient for answers.

The four dwarves had already gathered in the dining room, and began to move chairs, tables, take out the shelves to free up space and set up a real banquet place. Their deep voices and thick boots echoed throughout the home. Bilbo, at the other end of the corridor, watched with dismay as the state of his carpet, now encrusted with mud.

“Let’s shove this in the hole, or otherwise we’ll never get everyone in,”, explained Balïn.

“Everybody? How many more are there?” asked mister Baggins bitterly.

Fate had a marvelous sense of rhythm, or appalling irony, but the doorbell immediately rang. This time Bilbo did not lose his colors, he even gained a shade of red.

“Oh, no! No, no. There’s nobody home! Go away, and bother somebody else! There’s far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is. If…if this is some blockhead’s idea of a joke, I can only say, it is in very poor taste!”

The door opened with a crash, while eight more dwarves crashed onto the doormat of Bag End, with behind them the mischievous smile of the magician who had orchestrated this strange meeting.

"Gandalf," muttered Bilbo, seeing him.

The eight dwarves were already on their feet, and one by one they greeted Bilbo with their eternal "at your service" preceded by their name. The hobbit had never seemed so close to murdering someone, and luckily for these dwarves, Bilbo's eyes weren't equipped with the ability to kill, or it would have been the biggest carnage in the history of Bag End.

“Bofur, at your service”, laughs a dwarf while advancing towards Azlelia.

“Azlelia at yours,” she smiled at him.

“Glóin, at your service,”came a second, with a broad red beard.

"Bombur, at your service," muttered a huge dwarf, who alone was four times the weight of the young woman.

“Óin, at your service,” almost cried a dwarf holding an acoustic horn.

“Nori, at your service,” said a dwarf who was already eyeing the golden chandelier at the entrance.

“Ori, at your service,” stammered the dwarf who seemed the youngest.

“Dori, at your service,” said bowing a dwarf with great manners.

“Bifur, shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ,” scolded the last of the dwarves in a language she did not know (He had an ax in his skull, and she asked no more questions).

Azlelia already had enough worries to try to remember the names of these twelve dwarves, they were all so similar. Three "Ri", two "Ili", three "Fur" and four "ïn". In a circular motion, she looked at the smial, and there was not the slightest corner where her eyes did not meet a dwarf. They were carriers of luck according to the old tales, and Azlelia was convinced that it was more than a legend. These strange non-guests were the chance, the only chance she would have to change her life, her destiny. One chance, and she was not going to let it slip through her fingers.

She watched them carry chairs and loot the pantry with barely concealed curiosity. She devoured with glance the smallest patch of unexpected that it could grasp in their way of existence. If time had seemed long during the day, he was now passing with surprising speed, and the dwarves were already settling down to eat, laughing and heckling as much as before. She ignored Bilbo, who was watching her empty pantry in despair, and laughed loudly before entering the overcrowded little dining room.

“May I join you?” she asked.

Gandalf seemed to notice her for the first time, and returned her a smile.

“Azlelia Took,” he laughs over the cries of the dwarves. “Thus you too join our joyful assembly. Please take your seat, there must be some space near Bombur.”

With a consequent effort of concentration in order to remember who bore this name, she advanced towards the designated dwarf, slaloming between the chairs and dodging the food that flew across the room. Seeing her approach, the row of dwarves seated on a long cedar bench tightened, leaving her a place next to a brown-haired dwarf whose name she could no longer remember.

"Kili," he whispered to her as she desperately tried to thank him for the plate he held out to her.

“Thank you”, she replied, laughing and taking the dish.

The dwarves paid her no more attention and continued to eat as if nothing had happened. They laughed so hard that Azlelia could feel the vibrations in her rib cage. Pieces of meat were thrown across the room, occasionally falling into beer mugs or other plates. The parquet squeaked under the agitation of the benches which threatened to give way under their weight and a full meal was already spread out on the floor. When Fili got up to get something to drink, he came back, walking on the table, doing his best not to walk on the plates, asking verbally who wanted a beer. She did not know if they were fascinating or disgusting. And basically they were both.

They passed her a mug, which she took, observing with apprehension the quantity of beer it contained.

“Hey, on the count of three!” cried a dwarf when everyone had something to drink.

They counted screaming, and she could see her cousin from the living room, who was gloomily judging her visitors.

Silence fell in an instant, while the dwarves drank sip after sip of their beers, spilling half of them as they passed. With an instant of delay, she brought her own mug to her lips, before coughing when she felt the alcohol irritate her throat while running like liquid fire. After a few sips, she gave up the idea of drinking the gigantic mug in one go, not wishing to choke, which did not prevent her from starting to spit out the foam while she felt her lungs breathe out a sip she had swallowed askew.

Her neighbor at the table chuckled, mocking as he had already finished his own beer, and she replied with a nudge that he didn't even seem to feel. Before this little argument could worsen, the dwarves started a burping competition, and he exploded with laughter, turning to one of the dwarves she knew to be one of the three "Ri". A second dwarf burped, causing general hilarity. But the hobbit had to admit to being more disgusted than fascinated on this one.

Little by little, while the dwarves were emptying plates after plates, they began to leave the table. The room was emptying and the uninvited guests were quieter as they tried to digest the supplies for a week they had eaten in about an hour. Bilbo still couldn't get over their rudeness, and walked round through the rooms of the smial, in a massacring mood and looking angrily at the least dwarf who crossed his path, but also his cousin, who made very little regard of this intrusion and seemed to be enjoying it! Having fun! She was chatting with a dwarf whose name, family, and every last thing he did not know, as if he were a long-time friend. He had always known Azlelia chatty but it was frightening to see her talking with this stranger with a loud laugh. Especially since the dwarves did not have a very good reputation ...

“Yes, I understand that you all come from Ered Luin, “exasperated the girl. “But that doesn't tell me what Ered Luin is.”

“The blue mountains?” tried the hat dwarf with whom she was conversing.

“Yes. I must have heard of it. But why blue?” asked the young woman eagerly.

“ You ask questions,” laughs the dwarf. “I don't know, miss, I'm just a miner, not a well-educated guy.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Do not worry. I don't care not knowing everything. As long as I have a roof over my head and enough to eat.”

“Yes,” replied Azlelia, who still didn't understand how he could be satisfied with so little.

“You should ask Fili or Kili. Cultivated as they are, they will no doubt be able to answer you, miss.”

“You can use my name you know.”

“Only if you do so. I would be remiss of being rude.”

Azlelia could hear her cousin laughing not far from there, but her giggle was nothing amused, rather loaded with irony.

“Fili! Kili!” Bofur called out loud. “Why the blue mountains are blue?”

"No idea," Kili replied as loudly as he was at the other end of the table.

“My lessons were useful to what I see,” grated the voice of Balin, far in the living room.

“Fili?” shouted Bofur again as a simple question.

“Because ...” he began with difficulty when Balin had just entered the room and he regretted not having been more attentive during the hours of lessons of the old dwarf. “Because they are covered with snow ... and bordered by lakes and the sea ... And the sky too. And that makes a blue reflection ...”

He shrugged his shoulders for his brother, and waited for the shock of the slap on the head that Balin reserved for bad students. But the old dwarf with the white bard said nothing, and advanced towards the place of the young girl, happy to have for the first time an interested student.

"The Blue Mountains, miss," he said in his old wise voice, sitting down next to her. “They are so called because their surface is crossed by veins of one of the most beautiful stones, the lapis lazuli. And at night, when the moon is clear, the mountains sparkle with blue. So don't listen to these two ignorant, I don't even know if they can still write.”

Azlelia giggled with the offended air that "the two ignorant" tried to make appear at the end of the table before turning to Balïn

“What’s your job? Are you a miner too?”

“No!” exclaimed Bofur. “Balïn is a learned, young lady, not a rock-breaking moron like the rest of us.”

“I didn't know, excuse me. It's just that we don't often meet dwarves around here, I didn't think they were doing so many different jobs.”

“Aye! Many are miners, but not all.”

“What do you do, when you are not miners?”

“Well, among our assembly ...” began Balïn looking with a glance who to start with. “Bofur and Bifur are miners, of course, but Bombur is a toy manufacturer. While waiting to become a scribe Ori is a weaver like Dori, and Nori a thief although he does not boast about it. Dwalïn is a warrior, as I was younger. Glóin also before becoming a banker. And Óin is a doctor. As for Fili and Kili, they are warriors and stupid.”

“Only two miners,” surprised the young woman. “And so many fighters?”

“You can count Kili as a half,” laughs Fili, ruffling the brown hair

“And Fili too!” protested Kili, elbowing far more powerfully than the one Azlelia had given him before.

“Count these two for one,” suggested Balïn, who nevertheless smiled at the childishness of the two boys. “And it takes no less to defend our people.”

“Defend from what?”

“Bebother and confusticate these dwarves!”cut off Bilbo's furious voice.

“Pissed off hobbits?” concluded the young woman watching her cousin disappear in the corridor, followed by Gandalf

"Goblins, orcs," said Bofur indifferently, sitting down to smoke.

She had heard of such creatures before, although they were nowhere to found in Shire. They were monsters far more repulsive than dwarves obviously, since they were always discussed with horror and disgust.

"They roam the wilderness after dark," continued the dwarf. They attack reckless travelers and ...

"Stop Bofur," Glóin interrupted. You're going to scare Miss Took.

“No no, don't worry,” replied Azlelia in a confident voice (convinced that she was neither a traveler nor a reckless one anyway).

“…they’ve all but destroyed the plumbing!” reappeared the voice of Mister Baggins. “I don't understand what they’re doing in my house!”

Azlelia thought that her cousin was even more rude than these dwarves by claiming him so loudly and with so much conviction. That said, he was at home and had received thirteen guests for the price of a cousin. But she loved this evening so much that she didn't want to have to worry about her cousin or her moods.

“Excuse me?” Ori advanced towards her cousin (which Azlelia would have advised him against doing). “I'm sorry to interrupt. But what should I do with my plate?”

Bilbo did not answer, but cast an unkind look at the dwarf, accompanied by a sigh that did not predict a posed and peaceful reaction.

"Here you go Ori," replied Fili, coming to take the plate from the young dwarf's hands. “Give it to me.”

With an expert gesture, he threw the dish towards Kili, who had appeared at the other end of the corridor and threw in his turn the plate, towards the kitchen, received by Bifur. Then he launched a second, then a third, under the shocked gaze of Bilbo, who exclaimed:

“Excuse me! That’s my mother’s Westfarthing pottery, it’s over a hundred years old!”

His voice was trembling with anger. Bilbo's nerves had been put to the test in one evening, and the hobbit didn't know if he should get mroe angry or cry once and for all.

“And…and, ca…can you not do that”, he continued, seeing that the other dwarves were starting to play percussion, hitting cutlery. “You’ll blunt them!”

“Oh, d’you hear that lads?” laughs Bofur. “He says we'll blunt the knives.”

With these words, the dwarves began their song, which sounded like a new provocation towards Bilbo.

Blunt the knives and bend the forks

Smash the bottles and burn the corks

Chip the glasses and crack the plates

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!

Cut the cloth, tread on the fat

Leave the bones on the bedroom mat

For the milk on the pantry floor

Splash the wine on every door!

Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl

Pound them up with a thumping pole

When you're finished if they are whole

Send them down the hall to roll!

Bofur had taken out a flute coarsely cut from a boxwood branch and was accompanying the words with enthusiasm. The glasses continued to fly through the rooms and the plates passed from hand to hand bouncing as they passed on knees or elbows, tearing the last shades of pink from mister Baggins’ face, but making Azlelia laugh like never before she had been able to laugh. She clapped her hands to further amplify the exhilaration of that perfect evening of the unexpected.

“Would you dance?” asked a voice that sounded high among the cavernous and deep voices of the other dwarves.

“Why not,” she laughs, looking for the name of the dwarf in question.

"Always Kili," he replied with a smile.

“Sorry“, she laughed as she got up.

The kitchen circled around her as the bottom of her linen petticoat danced. She laughed at the caress of her hair on her cheek and the soft wood of the oak parquet under her feet, which lightly stuck beer that had been spilled there. The music, the smell and the feeling that this moment was eternal. That nothing, ever, would come to stop this chaotic choreography, since neither of them knew what the other was trying to dance. The laughter of the dwarves all around and the jumps of this hobbit peasant dance that we only danced on special occasions. She spun again and again, going from dwarf to dwarf in a dance that would make her forget that tomorrow another choreography would start again, that of boredom and everyday life. She reached out to each dwarf to dance forever, until the lack of air caught up with her or until daybreak. Passing from Kili to Bofur, then Balïn, then Ori, Dori, Bofur again, Gandalf and finally ended up on Fili's arm.

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!

The music stopped, and the dwarves laughed louder as Bilbo was speechless in front of the piles of flawless plates and the gleaming glasses. Azlelia applauded, and bowed clumsily when these ovations were sent back to her.

Yet the laughter died as soon as three knocks rang on the front door and Gandalf mumbled:  
“He’s here. “


End file.
